


Goodbye Bunny Ears

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A fucking hot gentleman, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Confessions, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, It was meant to be just sex, Mention of sex toys, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Revelations, Sam being a gentleman, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5068708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has scored once again.  But not you, dammit.  After a long drought of no hook-ups, you and Sam figure you might be able to give a friend a hand.  Because you’re adults, right? You can do this!</p><p>Yeah, right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye Bunny Ears

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sam-only oneshot. I’m more of a Dean girl but I may have gone and confused my own feels with this one.
> 
> Cross posted from my tumblr account

“Whiskey drinker?” says a new voice beside you.

“Yup,” you sigh and turn to see- _yikes!… Smiiiiile._ “Yeah,” you stall to catch up, “that’s my poison.”

“Good taste,” he drawls and clinks his glass against yours. He drinks, you drink, and you catch Sam glancing at you from across the bar looking only slightly entertained. He knows when you’re suppressing _Oh Shit_.

“So what brings you into town?” the guy asks kindly.

“Just some work,” you reply.

“You passing through?”

“Yeah, we’re off tomorrow.”

“We?” he asks.

“Yeah, me and the two handsome strangers somewhere round here,” you chuck your thumb over your shoulder, where you assume Dean will be, and nod at Sam. Both are occupied with women and drinks and your companion Aaah’s in relaxed comprehension. You peek at Sam again, knowing he’s watching you figure out your situation.

“So what’s your name?” he asks.

“Y/N,” you reply, “but-”

“Ferris,” he announces and holds out his hand.

You take it with a deep breath and, through clenched teeth, say “Ferris?”

“Yeah?” he asks warily.

“You are the spitting image of my Uncle Lesley.”

“Your _uncle?”_ he winces.

“Ya,” you say and dimple your cheeks awkwardly as you turn back to the bar and knock back the drink in one hit.

“Jeepers, I’m only just 40,” he sighs.

“And that’s _fine,”_ you soothe, “but you say jeepers and, well, now you’re Uncle Ferris and I don’t kink that way.”

He snorts a laugh and sips his own. You look at Sam, his attention mostly back on his ‘date’ but you know that smile and already you’re looking forward to explaining this one to him.

You turn to your right to see where Dean is at and catch the beginning of a make-out session. So there’s that.

“Well, Ferris,” you resign, “It looks like I’m stuck here for a while, so if you want a chat that’s fine with me.”

“Hey, if you need the company-”

“Hi!”

“Sam!” you’re surprised to see him. “Sam, this is Ferris. We’re not related.”

“Hi Ferris,” says Sam and gets a pleasant nod in reply. “How you doing?” he asks you pointedly.

“I’m fine,” you assure, just the slightest of eyebrow twitches to say _Ferris is harmless, you do your thing._

“Dean seems occupied for the night,” he gestures with his head.

“Yup. The guy knows no rejection,” you say, just a bit over this whole drought.

“Well, I’m not really feeling it,” he shrugs. “Thinking I might turn in.”

“Okay,” you nod, and grab your jacket off the chair nearby, perfectly happy to call it a day. “Sorry, Ferris, we’ve only got two cars and-”

“Nah, nothing to it,” he stops your apology. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he adds, rueful but honest.

“Thanks. You too. Take care Ferris,” and you pat him on the shoulder.

You clear your throat before making it to Dean, giving him fair warning to break up the kissing. “Hey, Sam and I are going,” you say, and throw a quick _Hi_ to his date. She flashes a tight smile your way. “Take my room for the night. Sam and I can take the twin.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” Dean smiles. “She’s the brains of the outfit,” he tells his girl.

“Damn straight. How come you won’t get to know any of my other organs?” you quip.

“Wa- I-” he stumbles.

You give her a bitter once over, and call “Have a nice night,” over your shoulder as you go. You know Dean was a little stunned, but as you and Sam head out the door you see he’s figured it out: his arm is sticking out towards you, thumb up, and his smut-interest is smearing herself all over his chest and face. You are an excellent wing-man.

On the way back you find yourself changing gears a little hard, taking the corners tighter than usual. Another blank night at a bar… “So what happened to you?”

“Aaah,” Sam slumps, “just not… not interested enough to be bothered.”

“Ouch. How’d you let her know?”

“I implied I might have a rash,” he answered, smiling at you boldly.

“Ha! Holy shit, how desperate were you to leave?!”

“Uh, what’s it matter? We’ll never be here again, God willing… and she was pretty handsy.”

“Shit, sorry,” you said, “I didn’t realise. We should make a signal so I can step in.”

“Nah, it was fine… thanks though.” He runs his hand through his hair, the tufty ends bouncing around his ears and neck.

You take half a mile or so in silence before griping out-loud. “How is it, when I decide it’s been ‘long enough’, we get three crap towns in a row?”

“Tell me about it,” Sam groans.

“Every guy under 24 is still hooked on scoring the cheerleader,” you start waving a hand around in annoyance, “or a rodeo fuckboy with no idea. Anyone older is either toasting their first born or drinking away the divorce. That guy was forty, Sam.”

He looks at you in empathy. “Not that there’s anything wrong with forty,” you add, “but that was the first time someone that age has hit on me as an equal and not a creepy old dude. So, yeah, it’s my problem, but _still…_ that’s the pool in these places.”

“Maybe he doesn’t think forty is that old?” Sam suggests.

“It’s not! Not really… He looked a lot like my uncle.”

“Oh,” Sam says, understanding what happened.

“A lot.”

“How old’s your uncle?”

“Sixty-three,” you answer.

“That probably made a difference,” he reasons.

“Yup,” you mutter, “fucking did.”

“Well, every cheerleader seems to be looking for someone new,” Sam shares. “And they’re nice and lovely… but so young, you know?… and the women who are older… they’ve been so aggressive.”

“You are a very handsome man, Sam. I’d be ramping up my powers of persuasion too if you rolled into town for a night.”

“Yeah, it’s not so much persuasive as… predatory. I have enough things trying to devour me during the day.”

“Well, you will use words like ‘devour’, you saucy talker.”

He scoffs and scowls as you pull into the carpark.

“And then there’s Dean,” you sigh.

“Yep.”

“Good old, reliable, seize the fucking day, Dean.” Bastard always got some ass, even when you were practically snappy from deprivation.

“Yep,” Sam grins.

You both shake your heads and make your way inside. Sam digs around in his bag and pulls out a grey shirt. “Hey, you want this for the night?” he offers.

“Awesome. Thank you,” you say, smiling at him as you take it.

He heads off to the bathroom for a quick shower and you graze the local news to check that there was nothing new on the spirit that should be now well and truly gone.

Your mind wanders and replays the night. It amuses you a little, your relationship with Dean. He is terribly handsome, and impressive in a lot of ways, but there’s something about the John Wayne thing he does at bars that’s too meta for your taste. Not to mention how much Groucho Marx you got from him the rest of the time. Your first impression had been of such a cocky, cheesy dork that any kind of attraction had never had a chance.

Sam, though, is a sweetheart. He is incredibly well built – from da-Vinci-like legs to swoon-worthy jaw - with a sweet smile and singeing eyes. Or something. Both of them are excellent hunters, almost to a fault when you consider how they _are_ the job. You know about their legacy – how they barely had a choice about their careers – but it’s good to work with people who aren’t hunting-for-therapy or too-broken-to-do-anything-else. You had resisted this life, but chose it with a reasonably healed heart and an aptitude you couldn’t ignore. So Sam’s focus was a breath of fresh air and you had long been reluctant to even consider leaving the Winchesters…

Sam comes out of the shower, towel around his midriff, hair mostly dry and you respectfully don’t look at him too hard. As you take your turn in the bathroom, you realise that you don’t have access to your vibrator – good old bunny ears - nor the privacy to use it. So here you are, in a nice hot shower, knowing the walls are too thin for anything satisfying. (Not that you aren’t just about over this sort of B-grade satisfaction. You need to find a town big enough to get at least another toy!) Then a thought occurs to you about how to bring some rain and for some where-has-your-brain-gone reason it doesn’t seem like a bad idea at all.

When you get out of the bathroom, Sam is still up and sitting at the table in an old, fitted black tee and navy pj pants. His loaned t-shirt is that big, you look like you’ve cut a hole through a grey duvet cover. You open the fridge door asking “You feel like a beer?”

You look over and he’s already pointing a fresh bottle at you as he drinks from his own.

“Heyyyyy,” you smile.

“Great minds.”

“I’ll say,” you agree, twisting the top and taking a swig. You lean against the bench… “Speaking of,” you begin.

“Hey,” Sam says, almost simultaneously, “you ever think…” he frowns in thought and closes the laptop before standing. “We’re both grown adults.” He looks at you and sips seriously, leaning against the back of the chair.

“Yeah,” you answer, wondering if this is going where you had been going.

“We could do something,” he says, kind of nodding at the beds. It was vague, but not unclear.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “Scratch each others’ backs, so to speak.” You began to smile at that – just for the imagery – and hope another sip will smother your giggle.

“Well,” Sam laughs, “maybe let’s not draw blood, but yeah, we could help each other out.”

“It would be good,” you admit. “Getting a bit sick of making do.”

“Fuck yeah,” Sam nods and bites his lip as he thinks. He puts his drink down, and walks over to stand between the beds. “So… Okay, I dunno… any suggestions?”

“Ummm…” you put your drink next to his and sit on the bed opposite him. He drops down to mirror you while you consider the many, many ways to skin this cat. Your mouth twists in thought, hands gripping the mattress beside your tight knees. “Maybe… maybe I could say some nice things in your ear… get you in the mood?”

Sam smirks a little. “Y/N, I’m pretty sure if you get close enough I’m not going to need much encouragement.”

“Really?” you ask playfully and make your way to sit behind him on the bed. You kneel and slide towards his weight, your knees against his hips, and smooth your hands over his shoulders, a movement only a few inches closer than the last massage you gave him (all elbows and cruel knuckles; he was practically in tears, and forever grateful).

“So,… what to say…” you wonder. He sways as you move him, his head turned back a little in anticipation. “I’m not gonna lie, just so you know.”

“Okay,” he smiles, apparently not believing you.

You lace your fingers and lay them next to his neck, your elbows over his shoulder bones, and rest your chin on your knuckles. “Nope. For one, I don’t need to,” you say, “and, two, I don’t think it’d help to have you wondering what I did and didn’t mean out of tonight. I think honesty is probably best.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “yeah, good point.”

“So…” you take a breath and lift your head. “…I love it,” you begin lowly, “every time a girl gets her first proper look at you.” You start to firmly run your hands over his shoulders and arms, rippling your fingers over his tight muscles as you let your words tickle his ear and shift his hair. “They stand on the edge of your personal space and look up and I can see them thinking _’Holy Shit. That’s an entire man_.’ It’s like you’re casting your shadow over every experience they’ve ever had. They swallow… and blink… and sigh… and mmmmelt.”

You can see his cheek curved in a smile. “You have a gift for hyperbole, Y/N, that-”

“And then you talk,” you continue, and shuffle a little closer to rest your chin on his shoulder. You wrap your arms around his ribs and slowly run your palms over his belly and chest, just getting him used to your hands on his body. Getting you used to it too.

You speak with the warmest voice you have. You watch his eyelashes twitch as he looks at nothing in particular, listening to your hands and voice. “And you use words like _hyperbole_ and _confer_ and _devour,_ but you don’t patronise at all. You listen, and educate, and I swear, Sam, when you like a woman, you’ve got her needing you in so many ways even before the third drink.”

You could feel his breathing has shifted while he listens. His smile has dropped a little and as you slide your hand south, steadily reaching his thigh, you let your knees spread and you press your softness against his back. He drops his head a little and leans it on yours, exhaling heavily, as his hands find your thighs. You let one had stop on his chest, pressing him to you, and you push your other along the inside of his leg, dragging your grip back, massaging muscles you haven’t even seen, let alone felt.

“Sam,” you begin again. You’re about to say “I’ve never met a better man”, but as soon as the sentence forms you feel a little stunned at the fact and taste metal.

You cover your pause with “Sam… if they knew how many delicious groans and gasps I got from you on that last massage, I’d be getting hate mail.”

You ease the pressure as your fingers get to the seams of his pyjama pants. You gingerly let your reach slide over his sac, his breath bouncing a little, and a sighing moan rumbles inside your arms. You fondle and massage gently for a while. Your instinct is to kiss his ear, but instead you nudge his head a little and shift your embrace.

“Feels really good,” he says quietly.

“Good,” you murmur. ”Tell me if there’s anything you’d like, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says and runs his hands up and down your arms before pulling one further around. “Come here,” he asks, and leads you to straddle his lap. His heavy eyes flash up and down your body before looking at your face again. You smile kindly and openly, your hands on his shoulders, his on your thighs again.

“You sure know how to work a guy’s ego,” he comments, cheeks dimpling.

You risk it and decide to take another step, dropping a hand between you to lightly run your knuckles over his erection, making him close his eyes and suck his teeth.

“Your ego sure knows how to respond,” you answer, both of you enjoying the easy chat.

“Mmmm… This shirt is huge on you,” he says softly.

“Is it big on you at all?”

“Kinda,” he smiles. “You mind taking it off?”

“I guess not,” you say. “You too though.”

“'Kay,” he agrees and whips his off before you can even find the edge of yours. He helps you swim out of all the soft cotton and when you resurface he’s staring at you, eyes drinking you in and hands hovering over your waist. He looks up, seemingly asking permission, and you nod saying “yeah, may as well.”

His hands land on your hips and you see him notice your panties for a moment before taking in your curves. He slides his hold up to your waist, up your ribs, still hesitant in case you change your mind. You run your hands up and down his arms and let him look.

“These, um,” he wets his lips, “you look really good.”

You laugh a little and say “Um… thanks… you too.”

You’d seen a lot of Sam before, and he’d seen most of you, with the patching up and what not, but modesty had always kept the boys from seeing all the parts of you put together. It was, you admit to yourself, a fair bit different in this context. A fair bit more impressive when you were being invited to enjoy it. Sam’s physique was like a living anatomy lesson; the names of those muscles come back real quick once he has his shirt off.

More smiling, gentle and bright. He moves his hands over your shoulders, brushing your hair away and off your neck, and slides his hands down your back to your hips. The firm, dry heat of him feels lovely. You drop your hand back down to his lap and caress his hardness again, taking the focus from your body.

He drops his head a little and you think he’s closed his eyes again, but then he might be looking at your action, so you open your palm up to him and drag more firmly.

His hands slowly slides across your pelvis, long fingers running along the elastic, and he knuckles your softness. It feels nice and tickley-sweet, and you breathe with it, letting your ministrations slip into automatic. He gets a knuckle either side of your clitoris and gyrates, your chest filling a little more now, then he pushes lower and when he works against your opening, wetness soaking through your panties, you realise how much you’re already aching, how long you’ve missed this.

You open your mouth to keep from groaning and slip your spare arm up to grip his shoulder. “That’s good Sam,” you breathe.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you know what you’re doing.”

You work on each other a little while and you keep your eyes closed, just so he doesn’t have to decide where to look.

“We can do this, if you like,” you say. “Just use our hands.”

“Is that what you’d prefer?”

You look at his face, trying to gauge how he’s going, and realise he’s pushing against you firmer than before. It’s good.

“Not really,” you confess. “Seems a bit silly to have come this far, you know… to chicken out now.”

“You don’t want my fingers?” he asks and you realise he’s fucking teasing you with this. He’s looking at you in a way you haven’t seen; heavily, watching, and sure. He flips his hand, dragging two digits up and down over the wet cotton. _Holy shit! This is him being **mildly** provocative._ The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you wonder just what you’ve gotten yourself into.

 _Okay then._ You take his hand from your groin, wrap your other around his cock, watching him flinch a little at your firm grip, and compare the girth of it to two of his fingers… then three. “Nnnope.”

He grins and looks at you with sly anticipation and a thrill runs through you. “Right then,” he says firmly. “Let’s do that.”

You slide off him and shimmy off the last of your clothes; he finds a condom in his wallet. He turns to you, ready to go and sits back down in his spot, hands already reaching and guiding you to his lap.

With a hand on your hip, his other slips into your heat again, getting straight into the wetness and you hum.

“I’m just gonna do this a bit more, get you nice and relaxed,” he soothes, leaning in so your noses are barely two inches apart.

“Yeah, okay,” you sigh, your mind on his fingertips.

He slides his spare hand up to your sternum. “Mind if I get in up here a bit?”

“Go for it,” you say.

You’re surprised at how distracting it is to have his face between your breasts. You lift your chin, feeling his hair tickle you, and make room for his attention. He begins lightly, kissing noises coming from his lips, his warm breath washing down your belly. His arm wraps around you, hot and large, like a safety barrier on a fairground attraction, and you smile coz sex with Sam will surely be a hell of a ride.

Suddenly you’re aware of Sam’s tongue slipping over a nipple, and those fingers playing around your wetness have begun circling your centre. You’re beginning to moan with his movements and rock yourself into him, but you find watching him nuzzle at your breast is too much, too new, and you close your eyes and run your hands over his back instead – _sweet Jesus, his gorgeous back and shoulders!_ – and let him make you feel better and better.

He works two fingers into you and you cry out softly. “Oh! Oh God, mmm.”

He only moves around a few seconds, pushing and cupping with his palm. “You,” he’s fucking panting already, “You feel pretty ready, Y/N.”

“I feel pretty ready,” you echo. You look down and collect his sheathed cock, your want for the fullness blocking out any distraction. You tilt him up and raise yourself to slide him up and back along you, collecting the slick a few times before catching him in the dint of your opening. You hold him there, rest your hand on his neck, and slowly lower yourself, his fingertips deepening in your butt cheeks on every inch.

You hold on tight and take a moment to run your mind over the length of him inside you, the reach of him into your body, and how sublime it is to have something so hot, hard and fleshy widen you down there. Your pussy practically chews on the sensation.

“Oh God,” Sam whispers against your cheek, keeping entirely still. “You okay?” he asks, breaking through your thought.

“With a capital Oh, Sam,” you sigh, unmoving.

He slips a hand up your back and rocks up into you. You jaw drops and your nails snatch into him, “Oh fuck, Sam! How did those women not follow you out of town!”

He nuzzles under your jaw and mumbles “I have a rash remember?”

“Huh,” you pant your laugh and adjust your hold a little closer. He’s practically hugging you now and looking into your face. He moves some, very slowly, not working in or out, just against you and you moan with it.

“Oh that’s so good,” you sigh.

“Mmmm,” he answers, “better than I hoped, Y/N. So much better.”

He smooths your hair and tilts your head down so that your temple rests on his forehead. You develop some kind of rolling rhythm and moan for each other.

You feel Sam kiss you low on your cheek, then again behind your jaw. It’s lovely and hot. He whispers your name in your ear and begins to kiss hungrily at your neck, his teeth and tongue taking little nips. Then his hands are around your head and jaw and you look him in the eye, a little afraid of the intimacy, but completely distracted by his expression – one of want and lust and you’ve never seen anything like it. You feel held and wanted and drawn in. He looks at your lips and leans toward you-

“Shit,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” you agree.

“Oh shit,” he says, a little firmer, then hisses _sonofabitch_ under his breath as he drops his focus.

“What, you okay?”

“Shit, can we stop?” he pulls back a little.

“Yeah, sure. Of course,” and you still yourself.

“Like stop completely?” he’s looking down, everywhere, hands off you, and all anxious.

“Of course,” you say. You let him help you clamber off and the noise of him leaving you is the saddest sound your pussy’s ever made.

You sit back on the bed opposite. You pull your knees together, elbows on top, then lean forward to cross your arms over your chest, resting your hands on your shoulders. It’s not very comfortable but now he can only see your face, forearms, shins, feet, and the curve of your hips, which seems kindest. You feel the bed-cover dampen beneath you and try not to think about how well you thought that was going.

“Sorry,” Sam breathes, running his hands through his hair. He’s pulled his shirt over his lap and is rocking his hips a little as he thinks. “I’m so sorry, I just felt like I should stop.”

“That’s okay,” you assure and wait for him to say whatever it is he needs to say, or not say.

He looks up at you with a desperately sorry face and you smile as kindly as you can.

“I like you,” he blurts.

“Okay,” you answer.

“No, Y/N, I really like you,” he explains.

You’re a little stunned, so pull your face into a neutral expression, because you don’t know what you think about that. He leans the heels of his hands on the edge of the bed, his body still tense and high.

“For how long?” you ask.

“I dunno,” he answers, “maybe a while. But I suddenly wanted to kiss you so much, and I just knew it was different to… whatever it is we’re doing here.”

You nod a little.

“It just seemed so _…intimate,”_ he shrugs.

“What?”

“Intimate, like personal.”

You scowl at him… “Remember that time you nudged me in the cervix with your cock?”

Sam tries not to laugh, and adds “Yes, I do, but… It was about to become something different for me, different to what you were doing.”

You understand, and nod and chew your lip. You twist in your seat a little, blinking as you think about how good a man he is while your vagina screams _waaaahyhyyyyyyy?_

“Yeah,” you chew out the words, “yeah that’s fair enough.”

“It doesn’t mean we have to stop,” he says.

Your eyes snap to him and hope he’s going to explain how exactly he won’t get hurt.

“We can keep going,” he says. “Maybe. If you can be clear how you feel about me.”

You frown with concern and look at the floor. It had never even crossed your mind to consider Sam romantically. That part of your self had been switched off for over a decade – a decade. You weren’t even sure what that kind of attraction felt like. But now you were thinking of how much you’d enjoyed this tonight and, particularly, how much you weren’t faking a thing.

“I don’t know,” you look up at him, completely contrite. “I’m sorry, Sam. I really don’t know. I’m kind of dysfunctional in romance.” You’re still leaning on your knees and awkwardly gesturing your hands near your ears.

He looks at you and swallows.

“I think,” you look around a little, speaking slowly, “I think you’re probably the guy I’m most likely to fall for. I just don’t know how to do that. I mean, I think I’ve just decided to not want what I can’t have.”

Sam nudges his erection aside and leans over to rest his elbows on his knees, directing a solemn gaze at you. “What if I said you could have me?”

You try to visualise it and flip through a bunch of rom-com scenes recast: him bringing you coffees with a peck on the cheek; you in his lap in the bunker teasing Dean; then sharing a shower, his form wet and amiable before you, your mouth feeling so small-

Your eyes snap to him and he sees it. That flash of desire that’s sparked by the terrible prospect of never having his affection again.

“I love it,” he says slowly, “when men meet you – especially arrogant men - and after about five minutes of conversation they realise what they’re up against. You’ll say something, something smart but subtle, and they wonder if you realise what you might be implying, then they realise you know damn well what you’re implying, and they realise they’re kinda slow.”

You frown your smile at him. “What are you doing?”

“Returning the favour,” he states. “I love working with someone who’s professional. You work so hard, but you _work,_ and Y/N, I’m not kidding when I say watching you fight is awesome. It’s like science and art.”

You roll your eyes a little.

“I don’t always enjoy being your wing-man,” he confesses, but his gaze is fixed and heavy. “It’s easy to talk you up, but I’m always pissy by the end of it… None of them are good enough. Not for the Y/N I know.”

The heat low in your belly is beginning to rise again, and you feel your chest moving more carefully. For some reason you’re acutely aware of what your expression is doing, but you can’t think of what you want to show.

He sees a shift in you and he leans off his bed, reaching for your knees as he moves onto his. The gap is small enough that he has to kneel either side of your feet, the shirt still sort of in his lap, setting off the V of his low stomach muscles. You sit up a bit, so you’re not in his face, and loosely hold onto your arms to keep your breasts covered even though he could easily see your wedge of hair, were he to look down. But he doesn’t, of course.

“Can I talk about your body?” he asks quietly. Your eyes trickle over the lines and shapes of his neck and shoulders as he caresses your shins with the backs of his fingers.

“I wish you’d wear your hair out more, but kinda glad you don’t coz I would’ve gotten here a lot sooner than you,” he says, tucking a lock behind your ear.

“Sometimes I get nervous when you look at me, but I’m realising now how much effort I go to, to make you smile,” his fingers have settled on your knees.

“Sam-” you say, afraid of being overwhelmed.

“You smile at me in the middle of hunts, or when Dean’s being an ass, and it just… it feels like you care, when you do that.”

“I do care,” you confirm. “I love caring about you.” _Shit!_

He sees you start at your admission, but pretends to ignore it by adding: “It’s like a moment of peace.”

He pauses and you bite your lip…

“And, goddamn, Y/N,” he shakes his head, squeezing you in his hands a little, “I want to talk about your body but I don’t know here to start. I just can’t believe you’re letting me see it.”

You’re breathing tightly now, blinking and trying to think, or feel.

Sam reigns back the intensity a little and says quietly “We don’t have to keep going, if you don’t want.”

You feel tightness everywhere and when you imagine calling the whole thing off and getting into separate beds a groan betrays you, even as you swallow it down.

“What?” he smiles.

“Uuuh I don’t think my… body will thank me for that,” you say, putting your hand over your eyes.

“Oh that’s right,” he smirks, “you need to get fucked.”

“You need to get fucked!” you snip lightly.

He puts his cheek against yours, rumbling, “You bet I do.” His hands drag up your waist and arch you towards him, “Y/N,” he groans, “being inside you feels…” He squeezes his fingers and nudges your head with his so his lips touch your ear. “I haven’t felt better.”

Your hand hinges forward a little, quite unconsciously, as you close your eyes and feel his closeness, fingertips brushing his throat and collarbone.

“What if I said,” he pushes the words into you, “I’d wait for you to want me?”

You tilt you head towards him, whispering “I don’t think you’re going to wait long.”

He takes your hands and unfolds your arms, glancing at your body, and you move willingly. He tangles his fingers about yours a little, then takes a gentle hold of your jaw, his thumb caressing your cheek, and slips his other hand to your waist.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“Yes please.”

He kneels up to come close and pauses there a second. You’re petrified of what’s going to happen. _That’s his eye colour,_ you think. _This is the man who says he likes me. Oh-_

He closes the distance and lands on you, gently, and holds you there. Your lips twitch against him as your senses switch on and take it in.

He pulls back, but only to adjust, and on the second go he licks at you. A little noise escapes as you taste at him. He’s hesitant and patient, letting you lead a little.

Sam stops to see how you are, but you follow and kiss him again. It’s so good. The smell of him and his lips, how they talk to you like this, all the warmth of your body pointing to this.

His hands are gentle in your hair and cupping your head, caressing and smoothing and you both work on this nibbly, lick-lapping kiss.

“Sam?” you ask, quite breathless, and finally figure out what to do with your hands.

“Yeah,” he says, voice hazy, eyes focused.

You have this feeling in your chest like you’re running late for something. “Kiss me,” you plead, your fingers slipping up into his hair and onto his neck.

“You sure?” he asks sternly, “coz I’m gonna kiss you so hard.”

“I want that,” you breathe, unable to tear your eyes from his mouth, and pull at him. “None of them were good enough, not at this.”

You meet in the middle, open mouthed, and he dominates just like he promised. He pulls your hips to the edge of the mattress and tilts you back to rest on the bed, his long, smooth form now between your legs and curving over you. You feel his erection against the junction of your thigh and hip and scoop your pelvis under it, collecting him in your folds. You moved back and forth, Sam swearing Fuck into your mouth, before breaking away and lifting you by the shoulder and hip to pitch you up the bed. You bounce once and he’s pressing down on you again, mouth on yours and hands everywhere.

“Do you want me to?” he puffs, nudging you a little with his cock.

“I want you, Sam,” you say, “I really do.” You grab at him and look him in the eye. “I know you and I like you… I want this again and you in between.”

He looks at you a moment, and you can’t tell why, so you egg him on. “Get back inside me, where you belong,” and lean up to kiss him again.

He gives a short moan, then nudges into you, just the head. After a beat, he nudges a little more, as your lips are locked, then smoothly buries himself and you both cry out.

Again, he plunges. “Oh my God, Sam,” you gasp, “fuck, _Sam!”_

“Yeah, Y/N,” he puffs, resting his head against yours, “Damn, I know.”

“Oh, please just fuck me,” you plead. “Please… just… oshititfeelssogood.”

“You sure you don’t-”

“Those are my last words Sam!”

“Okay,” he kisses you and rests his lips on your ear, whispering, “okay.”

He begins to move, in and out, and you wrap your legs around him. He grunts at the change and gets faster, beginning to snap into you. Your voice rises and you run your hands over him, your tiny fucking hands grabbing at his waist and shoulders. He begins to moan with each thrust, gasping your name, swearing in between, and then as he ramps up the speed and depth again you feel his teeth on you and his aching sounds lead you on.

You get your hands around his jaw and try to let him fuck you, just feel him all come and go, obscenely dragging and pushing against you. He starts kissing around your cheek and ear, then slips a hand under your hip to pull you up and he tilts you, his cock dragging over your g-spot on every thrust and pull, and you throw your head back noisily. “Oh God _Sam!”_

He latches onto your throat, in the exposed dip of your jaw, his tight hand holding you under the base of your head. Barely four beats in and your orgasm bursts from you. You cry out from it in surprise and mercy, never having had something so intense, and feel everything tremble and quiver around him.

Sam gasps “Oh, Y/N! _…Jesus-”_ He practically trips over the sensation, his own orgasm surprising him too. His hips do a double-take to stay against you and he pushes you a clear half-foot up the bed, mashing his groin against your softness and grunting into your skin, pulsing the last of it against you.

He leans his belly against yours but keeps an elbow propped up and puffs, his head still dropped against your collar bone. “Y/N?”

“Nnnng,” you puff back.

“You okay?”

“Nnngkay, Sam.” You stroke your tingling fingers over him a little, shift your legs. They move jerkily, but soon you’re feeling him against you more clearly. You start sliding your limbs, humming as your breathing calms down, and you feel all these intimate patches: his inner hip against yours, the length and contours of his waist, and what seems to be the most gorgeous thigh-to-ass curve you’ve ever encountered.

“What are you doing?” he laughs into your neck and lifts his head.

You smile at him, all rosy and shiny and warm, and he smiles back. “You feel delicious,” you coo. “I didn’t get a chance to feel you before.” You look down and watch your hands run over his planes and ripples, getting used to it again.

“You’re gonna make me wanna go again, doing that.”

“Yes please,” you sigh, “When you’re ready.”

He kisses you and you pause to feel it and give it back. “Thank you,” you say against his lips, “Thank you for being brave.”

“Hey, you too,” he says, and kisses you over and over about your cheek, your brow. He slips out and cleans up, flicks off the lights and comes back to lay beside you.

You snuggle under the covers and after some time of staring into the darkness, wondering how you’re ever going to calm down, you doze.

Some time later Sam wakes you kissing your ear and you readily wrap yourself around him. Within seconds he’s already wearing protection and over you, this time with his fingers against your clitoris as you roll into each other, slowly and lovingly. You manage to wrangle yourself on top, encouraging him feel your breasts before he sits up to lick and nuzzle while you surge onto him. You come with his thumb on your nub, teeth to teeth, both of you cursing and sighing.

In the aftermath, this time, you lay side-by-side and chat for a while, running your fingers over each other and talking about whatever, mostly times you’ve admired each other and how you might joke with Dean in the morning.

You’re both up, showered and eating before Dean gets back. He strolls in, relaxed and dishevelled, plopping himself down on the table next to you and chucking a piece of toast in his mouth.

You lean back saying “You’re looking mighty pleased with yourself.”

“It was a good night,” he nods.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, and can I say thank you again for the room, Y/N. And the.. whatever the hell you said at the bar,” he waves his hand, and takes another bite. “That was some top form.”

“No problem,” you answer happily.

“So, Jeanette,” he says, and glances at Sam with a growing smirk. “She’s kinda clumsy.”

“In a bad way?” you ask.

“She knocked over your bag, and uhh,” he crosses his arms, “well, your vibrator fell out.”

You stare at him. You look at Sam and his rising eyebrows. He stares at the table. You look back at Dean and say flatly, “Tell me you didn’t use my vibrator.”

“Well….”

_“Dean?”_

“We put a condom on it!” he exclaims and grins at you. Sam puts his hand over his eyes.

“Oh well-fucking-done! You- …You know what? Don’t worry about it,” you gripe, hands up in surrender. “Keep it.”

“No, Y/N-”

“Keep it,” you say, “I don’t need it anyway.”

“Really?” Dean checks. “It’s pretty good.”

“Got me an upgrade.”

“Really?” he asks.

You stand and swing yourself to sit across Sam’s lap, his hands settling on your back and knee. “Yup,” you say, and focus on your toast.

You munch. Sam tries not to smile and risks a glance at his brother.

Dean stares a few seconds, then cracks. “Am I being pranked?” he asks you.

You blink at him. “Nope,” you answer and finish your food.

He looks at Sam. “Am I being pranked?”

“No, Dean, no prank.”

You lean back a little and hang your elbow over Sam’s shoulder, then get your fingertips into his hairline. His hand slips up your leg to duck a thumb under your shirt hem, and the other runs up and down your back as you lean on him. You bite on your smile while Sam’s expression shuffles around between happy and shy.

Dean’s eyes pop at each gesture and soon he’s frowning furiously. You try not to chuckle, and whisper in Sam’s ear as you cup his jaw. “You think this will kill him?”

“He’s dealt with worse,” Sam mutters and tilts his face to look at you. Those sweet eyes, all mischievous and heated, flick between your eyes and your mouth and-

“You’re kidding me!” Dean cries. _“I’m the third wheel?!!”_

“Well,” you console, “You’ve always got ol’ bunny ears.”


End file.
